The kids went to swimming camp for three weeks, achieving the multi-purpose goals of daytime entertaining, swim instruction, and general good sleep (twice daily in the pool plus outrageously hot temps).
But AM came home with something extra on his last day. Written on the back of his swimming certificate–like a report card, with the added notation that he was outstanding in his group (of 4)–was a girl’s phone number.
“Who is Rotem?” I inquired.
“A madricha (counselor),” he said.
“I thought your counselors were named Yarden and Einav.”
“Rotem is with the 5 year olds. But she is on my bus.”
“Oh. Why did she give you her phone number? Does she babysit?”
“No. But we love each other! She loves me like a ben (son).”
“Like a son? Really?”
“She has an ach (brother) with red hair and blue eyes. Like me.”
“So maybe she loves you like a brother?”
“No, like a ben.”
“I have her phone number, so I want to call her.”
“But I thought you said she doesn’t babysit.”
“To tell her about my day! I want to call her now!”
“You just saw her an hour ago. Why don’t you let her…miss you a little bit?”
“Ok, then on yom rishon (Sunday).”
But six-year-old love is fickle. AM spent today working on an art project, picking out English workbooks, eating frozen yogurt, and making pancakes. He talked a bit about his favorite part of camp (swimming lessons), but didn’t mention his lady love.
Sorry, Rotem. I’m sure you were lovely. But if any woman is going to love him like a son, you’d best get in line behind me.